Ladle
by Fufuluff
Summary: A take on how Natasha's renown words, "love is for children", mean a lot more to her than meets the eye.


**Author Note: **This is my take on their relationship. Personally, I think there is at least some kind of age difference when it comes to these two. I do not think it started off as romantic at all - these two trust each others as comrades before anything else.

That being said, I don't think, when Clint went on his mission to kill her... I don't think he spared her just 'cause she had a pretty face.

Anyway, enjoy. I plan for this to be a multichapter thing going through the years, do idk if you like it tell me so I don't slack off and actually finish this?

ps. this follows the movie verse and all that jazz.

* * *

"She's just a damn kid," Clint Barton watched her from afar, hiding in the crevice of two walls, "You can't expect me to kill a kid."

He would, actually. He would kill her, albeit he'd do it grudgingly. Drawing back his bow, he narrowed his eyes. She wasn't doing a thorough job of concealing herself. Whether that was intentional or not didn't matter to him, though. He let out a deep breath. She stirred from her seemingly unguarded state while the evidence of his presence weaved its way into the air in a tail of smoke. Clint pressed himself against the frigid wall. Kid or not, he valued his life and had no intentions of reaching fatality thanks to this chick. A few seconds passed by, and he relaxed just enough to take a sharp glance around the corner. Nothing but an eerie stillness was in sight - she was gone. He cursed, but after scoping the area quickly to see if she was nearby, he deemed it clear and withdrew his bow to confirm his mission.

"Agent Barton asking for confirmation." he muttered into the transmitter.

"So official." the sickenly chipper chirp of Coulson's voice crackled in his ear, "She isn't a kid, she's lethal."

"Well what - "

"There is _no _time for cold feet Barton, you are the man for the job," Clint ground his teeth, unsatisfied, "and by the way, sixteen years old is a teenager - hence the "teen" at the end the six? Surely you remember - "

With no patience to listen to Coulson chuckle to himself about how hilarious he thought he was, he shut off the transmitter. He felt uneasy now, and warily did a take of his surroundings. It was still silent, still unmoving, almost uncomfortably so. In one swift motion, he drew his bow and positioned himself for an attack. A scuffle from above alerted his senses, and just as he was about to let an arrow fly in the direction of the noise, he had to aim it elsewhere. By elsewhere, he had to aim it at the head of a bullet. With less skill than he would have liked to admit, he crumpled to the ground and rolled out of the way to evade the inevitable blast. His arrows did have a thing for exploding. Debris and dust invading his lungs, he stifled a cough while he scrambled to get back on his feet.

He couldn't though, suddenly feeling the end of a slender black heel dig into his back. Letting out a loud grunt, he reared back, throwing her off. He reached for another arrow and spun around, only perplex himself by the sight of the bright red roads traveling down her face. She caught on to this moment of distraction, and with precision and poise, fired a round of bullets at him. She was certainly skilled, and if he were to be just your average shield member, he would be dead by now. Fortunately for him, he was blessed with being himself, and "himself" had outstanding reflexes. He cursed again, diving out of the way and shooting a hooked arrow above her so he could clamber up to higher ground. As if referencing his earlier trick, she shot the arrow. It rolled back toward him, broken and buzzing with failure. He grinned.

"You learn quickly."

She paid no acknowledgement to him except for a loathing glare beneath the dirty strands of hair splayed across her face. Clint remained stagnant as her fingers curled around the trigger of the gun. Ever so calmly, he loaded his bow with an arrow and the both of them stood there, motionless, staring at each other as equals.

Abruptly, she cocked the gun a few inches above his head and the trigger clicked, causing him to reposition himself. At a disadvantage, he opted for ducking, but this seemed to be her intention because his tongue grimaced at the taste of his own blood pooling down his throat. A tooth. She just knocked out his tooth. He spat and the tooth bounced off the road and into some corner. Slightly irate now, he decided to not hold back. He twisted around, pulling up an arrow and then flourishing it at her knee with impeccable accuracy. She yelped, lurching forward and collapsing on the pavement while he collected himself to no avail. It stupefied him, the foolish last attempt of attack from the girl who was pretty much defeated. She had thrown a knife carelessly at him, but it just barely grazed his arm. He lunged forward and knelt, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her head back.

"Who are you?" he interrogated, even though it was pretty redundant for him to do so. He already knew who she was, and what she had done.

She whimpered, and he found himself loosening the grip he had on her hair. She hadn't answered. Her eyes were shut in pain, and her breaths came out in shaky heaves. He cleared his throat, cautiously releasing her and promptly removing the arrow. Immediately, his wrist was twisted. She let out a scream, or perhaps something along the lines of a desperate battle cry, and contorted his arm far enough to drive the arrow into his shoulder. Clint bellowed, rising to his feet and pulling the arrow out. That bitch just played him for an idiot, but he wasn't upset. She was doing what she could to survive, and he had a level of respect for that because when it came down to it - there was no pride in trying to stay alive.

Not to mention the entire act was just utterly convincing, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't impressed.

She wrestled herself to her feet in vain attempt to flee, but he wasn't about to let her go. Hand pressed to his shoulder, he bustled after her. She shot a glance over her shoulder, and upon seeing him advance on her so quickly, tried to quicken her pace. He could tell now. He could tell that she was frightened. She couldn't fool him a second time, definitely not. _Accept defeat_, he urged in his head, but she simply let out a frantic, wordless cry as she strived to get her busted knee to cooperate to just move faster. In one swift motion, his forearm slammed her body into the wall, and held a dagger just above her head. She did not look him in the eye.

"I won't kill you."

Somewhere along the line he had made his decision. He wasn't sure where, but he had. They lingered there together, exchanging no words, and slowly, the world began to drift back into its steady, quiet state. His muscles relaxed, but he kept his guard up. It was evident that she was the determined type. He was just about to give up and cuff her, drag her back to SHIELD headquarters and let Fury handle her, but she swallowed and composed herself enough to finally, finally meet his gaze. Defeated, she was, and he put his arm down. Her eyes searched his curiously, and gave her a curt, reassuring nod.

"Romanov," she whispered, her chest rising and falling tiredly, "Natasha Romanov."

There was a certain air of sincerity and gratitude in her voice, although he wasn't sure if he was tricking himself into thinking it. He just spared her life - just barely - and it frazzled him slightly to really register what he was up against. He made no inclination to provide her comfort. No soft touch, no warm rub on the back. He merely held out his hand for her, and he was puzzled to see her avert her eyes so quickly. Gingerly, she folded her arms across her chest. He shook his head, scoffing. Some thanks for saving her life.

"I'm Clint, by the way. Clint Barton."

* * *

**Author Note: **In addition to what I said above, I have no idea where my planned beta is. If anyone is open to beta, I'd appreciate a message from you.  
_  
_Feedback is always appreciated.

_ps: this fic is kind of why of saying that Natasha is just a damn good woman and deserves not to be written like a sniveling, angry-sex-loving kitten. thank you. also age gaps = my heart going doki doki._


End file.
